


Gaps

by ihavealotofwords



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sniper Steve, Gift Fic, I Wrote This Before Cap 2 Came Out, M/M, Originally It Was A, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, old fic, old writing is old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6004525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavealotofwords/pseuds/ihavealotofwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief look at five Valentine's Days in the life of Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gaps

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is old. I wrote this years ago, as a gift for an RP partner that I have, unfortunately, since lost contact with. D: I think I wrote it either right before or right after Captain America 2 came out. I also made a slight change where Steve didn't immediately get the serum, but became a sniper with Bucky's unit, and only got the serum and became Captain America after Bucky died. Because of reasons. 
> 
> I wanted to do something for Valentine's Day, but my hands are hurting, so I just decided to finally post this. So yeah. Enjoy.
> 
> Can also be read [here](http://fanofallthingsadorkable.tumblr.com/post/139299951395/gaps).

Sister Sophia was, as far as Steve was concerned, the nicest woman there ever was. (Besides his own mother, but he thought she’d understand if she looked down from Heaven at the slip of paper he was holding.) The other Sisters didn’t agree, but Steve secretly thought they could be wrong about things, sometimes.

“Simply shameless,” Sister Katherine said in a hushed voice. Steve pulled back further into the doorway of the younger boys’ room as another voice answered Sister Katherine.

“Surely it won’t hurt for the children to have something nice to treasure?” That was Sister Mary, one of the younger nuns who lived at the orphanage.

“We raise them to take comfort in their gifts from God, not material things.” Sister Katherine pulled herself up straighter, though she was still far squatter and shorter than any of the other Sisters.

“I do not think that God would condemn a child’s joy.” The two Sisters turned, looking further down the hall. Steve peered out further, catching sight of Sister Sophia. “A small gift on a special day will not harm their sense of morality, surely?”

Sister Katherine huffed, and Sister Mary looked down at the idea of getting caught gossiping. Steve smiled and gently smoothed the little card he had received out in his hand. For the first time that anyone could remember, everyone in the orphanage had received a gift, and on a holiday at that! The small Valentine’s Day cards were simple, homemade by the Sister herself, with inspiring Bible verses written in beautiful script. It was the first time Steve had ever been given a Valentine’s gift, and he knew that he would treasure it forever.

Steve looked up again in time to catch Sister Sophia glancing at him. She smiled gently at him, but he still retreated further into the shadow of the doorway, making himself small. As long as you behaved, Steve had discovered quickly once he was placed in the orphanage, did your chores and took your medicine like you were supposed to, the nuns would leave you to your own devices. They already did so much for the kids, Steve in particular, with his tendency to catch every illness that passed through the city and need for medicine after medicine to recover. Steve didn’t want to cause them any more trouble, so he did his best to behave and make himself invisible.

Leaving the nuns behind to talk, Steve exited the building through the back door and onto the small lawn where the kids played in their free time. Excitement was palpable in the air- Sister Sophia’s gifts had lifted spirits that had still been sore after a cold winter.

Steve stuck to the edge of the yard, crossing over to the wide oak that spread its shade over the grass. His chest hurt with the slight chill in the air, still not healed from his last case of cough. There would be no running, no playing, for weeks yet. He was happy to be allowed outside again, though, so he sat against the trunk of the tree and enjoyed the pale sun that peeked through the clouds, rather than complain.

Eyes had slid shut while Steve listened to the shrieks of laughter that echoed across the yard. They snapped open again when the unmistakable sound of crying reached his ears. Standing on stiff legs, he followed the sound around the side of the orphanage, where the garbage bins were kept.

One form was on the ground, two boys hovering over it. Steve bit his lip when he saw the scraggly cat the boys were teasing. It hissed, backed against a garbage bin, when one poked its side with a knobby stick. Shaking, Steve stepped forward. “H-hey,” he said. “Leave it alone.”

The boys turned, looking at Steve with a sneer. At their distraction, the cat snatched its chance and ran, squeezing through the back fence and racing away from the orphanage. “Oi, you made it get away,” one of the boys complained. Steve squared his skinny shoulders.

“You shouldn’t tease it like that,” he said, more firmly than he felt.

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” came the sneering reply. Steve raised shaky fists.

“Put the stick down and leave.”

They laughed. The taller one grabbed Steve’s shoulders and pushed him against the rough brick of the building. The shorter one, the one with the stick, snatched the paper out of Steve’s pocket. He lunged for it, but the taller one kept him pinned against the wall.

“What do we have here?” The boy unfolded the card that Steve had carefully tucked away. Steve struggled, trying to grab it back. “You actually kept it? It’s not like that old bag actually likes us. Pities us, more like.”

“Please, give it back,” Steve pleaded, eyes on the card.

“No, I don’t think I will.” With two sharp movements, the boy ripped the paper into four pieces, letting them flutter to the ground. Steve gasped sharply, biting his lip, as they laughed.

Something barreled into the taller boy’s side, and Steve was able to wrench his shoulders out of his grasp. He fell to his knees, ignoring the sharp press of stone against his skin, and shakily picked up the pieces of his card. Laying them out in order, he realized there would be no way to fix it. The card Sister Sophia had made, by hand, for him, was ruined.

Worn shoes stepped into Steve’s line of sight, and he glanced up at their owner. A boy, probably about Steve’s age, held out his hand to help Steve up. Steve looked down without taking it, staring at his card. “Thank you,” he murmured, hoping the other would take a hint and leave.

Instead, hands cupped Steve’s underarms and bodily lifted him up to his feet. He flailed, jumping back. The boy shrugged. “’S nothing,” he said. He nudged the card with his shoe. “Saw you help that cat.”

Steve frowned, looking down at the card as well.

“You’re really upset about it, aren’t you?” Steve nodded. “Here…”

A slightly crumpled piece of paper was thrust in front of Steve’s face. He took it, smoothing it out carefully. “Wha-?”

“You can have mine,” the hurried explanation came. “I shoulda helped sooner, so yours wouldn’t have been torn up.”

Steve clutched the card to his chest. “Are you sure?”

The boy nodded. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

Steve tilted his head, and the boy fidgeted.

“Well, it’s James, but if you call me that I’ll punch you.”

“Bucky, then,” Steve said and received a nod in return. “I’m Steve.”

Bucky grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. “Glad to meet ya, Stevie.”

\---

Judging by the chill that slipped into the open flap of his tent, Steve guessed that it was well after midnight, and he was still awake. The lack of the rumbling snores that he had acclimated to over the weeks told him that he wasn’t the only one.

Rolling off of his cot, Steve knelt by the edge of his tent and peered through the rough hole cut there, looking straight into Bucky’s tent. They had gotten the tents cheap, thanks to the holes, and simply set their tents up together to block the wind.

“Bucky?” Steve asked quietly. He peered through the hole, but Bucky’s cot was empty. Steve stuffed his socked feet into his heavy boots and stumbled outside, fighting back a cough at the sudden change in temperature when the cold wind hit him. He trudged to the edge of the camp quietly, nodding at the sentries who were standing watch. One jerked his head towards a clump of trees in the distance. Steve gave him a thankful nod and began the trip over the scrubby terrain to the trees.

Bucky was there, doubled over and losing everything he had eaten that day on the large tree roots. Steve dug in his pockets for a handkerchief.

"I ain't no sissy," Bucky had spat after Steve handed him a cool cloth to wipe his mouth with, red flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck and the rough accent of their childhood returning.   "I know you aren't, Buck," Steve had replied with a shrug, his overly large uniform slipping down of one shoulder with the movement. "T' be honest, I'd probably be heaving right beside you if I could without coughing." He couldn’t afford another round, not so early in the tour. The CO already gave him unimpressed looks when he did his best to keep up with the other soldiers.   "That's right, you were up there picking them off one by one, huh? How many'd you get today?"   "I didn't count," Steve had lied, knowing that every face he had sighted through his scope would haunt his dreams for months to come. As a sniper, he saw more action more than even those on the front lines. Bucky gave him a knowing half smile.   "I won't tell no one if you don't," Bucky had said, slinging his arm around Steve's neck and leading him back into camp, back to their tents, pitched side by side as always.   Steve curled back up in his cot, listening to the wind whistle through the camp. He glanced over when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Bucky stuck his head through the hole in his tent. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly. Steve shrugged.

“No problem, Buck.”

“Happy Valentine’s, Stevie.” Bucky retreated back into his tent. Steve could hear him shuffle around and crawl into his cot. Steve hadn’t expected him to remember the date.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck,” he whispered.

\---

Valentine’s Day was a lot pinker than it used to be.

That was the prevalent thought in Steve’s mind as he wandered through the streets of New York, surrounded by couples and store advertisements and more shades of pink than he even knew existed.

The holiday had snuck up on him. He hadn’t paid much attention to the date; something about ‘2013’ written on the top of the calendar made him cringe, so he had taken it off the wall as soon as he had received permission from Tony to redecorate however he wanted. Tony had given him a room- a whole floor, actually- at the Stark Tower, but Steve hadn’t wanted to assume that he could do what he pleased in it. He was sure Tony had meant well, putting the calendar up. It was pretty obvious to the others that Steve was usually lost concerning the date. If any of them suspected that it was because of the year that was attached to the end of that date, well, they kept it to themselves.

So, Steve had been entirely unaware of what day it was when he had entered the communal kitchen to find the place decked in pink streamers and an entirely unhealthy amount of glitter. (“Hulk insisted,” Tony had muttered. “You know how he gets about glitter.” Steve shuddered at the memory.) Natasha was the first to stand and meet him in the doorway.

“Steve,” she greeted, pressing a kiss to his cheek and handing him a box. Chocolate candies filled with the strongest Russian vodka she could find. If Steve paid attention, he could feel the smallest buzz after eating one before his metabolism did away with it. It was the closest to drunk he had been since the war.

Bruce and Clint had pooled together to get Steve a pile of aprons. (He was raised to respect his clothes, darn it, and aprons were sensible no matter how much Tony teased.) Unfolding them revealed that they were Avengers merchandise- one for each of them. Steve had laughed at that and promised to wear them the next time he cooked.

Afterwards, Bruce had handed him a lopsided, extremely glittery heart. “Hulk asked me to give this to you,” he murmured. “Everyone got one.” Well, that explained what the glittery explosion a few weeks past had been about. Steve nodded and said his thanks, hoping Hulk could hear him.

Thor handed everyone what he called ‘a true delicacy worthy of gods’ that, when opened, turned out to be an individual box of poptarts. Everyone got their own flavor, and Steve found later, when he finally tried one, that wild berry poptarts were his favorite flavor.

Tony went last. He pressed something in Steve’s hand, though it was not what Steve would have expected from him. He turned the key over in his hand. “Tony, you can’t give me a house,” he said, shaking his head and trying to return what was obviously a house key. Tony backed away, tucking his hands behind his back.

“I think you’ll like it. Nothing big,” he promised. He gave Steve a card. “Here’s the address.”

Steve glanced down at the writing, taking in the familiar address. “You… how?”

Tony shrugged. “A genius never reveals his secrets.”

That’s how Steve found himself on the street, ambling slowly towards Brooklyn, key burning in his pocket. After the initial morning celebration, everyone had gone their separate ways, to spend the day how they wished. Steve had slipped out of the Tower alone, wanting space to think.

How was the building even still standing?

A lot of renovations, Steve concluded when he reached it. It had changed over the years, obviously, but Steve still recognized the structure. He swallowed thickly and pushed the front door open. The guy at the front desk didn’t even look up, so Steve headed for the stairs. Fourth floor, last room on the right. The draftiest apartment in the whole building.

The carpet was new, as was the wallpaper. The hole that had graced the far wall with its ugly, drafty presence had been fixed long ago; Steve could only see the outline because he knew where to look. There were a few simple furnishings, most likely thanks to Tony. Steve stood at the entrance, leaning against the door, as memories assaulted him.

_“Where are we going, Buck?” Steve asked, wrapping his arms around himself to try and ward off the February chill. It was looking like it would be a long winter again this year. If it were anyone but Bucky, Steve would be back at the little shelter they lived in, huddled in the corner and trying not to cough. But this was Bucky, so Steve trudged through the half-melted slush behind him, tucking his chin down in his ratty coat as far as he could. Bucky glanced back at him and took his arm._

_“We’re almost there- promise.” He smiled. “You’re going to like it, Stevie.”_

_Steve let Bucky pull him along, not putting up as much protest as he normally would. He had (only ever admitted in his mind) found that he didn’t mind his friend manhandling him around like this as much as he should. Whatever Bucky did, it was with Steve’s best interest in mind, and always had been. Steve trusted him, more than he ever thought was possible._

_That being said, it was still freezing out, and Steve was almost ready to insist they go back by the time Bucky finally stopped in front of a brick building. Steve looked up at it, shivering. “What are we doing here, Bucky?”_

_Bucky put a finger to his lips and grinned. The slight gap in his teeth was straightening out, to where Steve could barely see it. Not that Bucky hadn’t been handsome before- he was a fine fella- but it wouldn’t be long before the girls flocked to him, especially with the bulk he had put on thanks to his job hauling crates down at the docks. Steve bit the inside of his cheek. Bucky must have thought that he was pouting (he wasn’t!) and ushered him inside._

_The blessed heat swooped over Steve, making him sigh in relief. His chest already felt better, just being out of the wind. Steve followed Bucky across the room, to a flight of stairs. Bucky had to help him up the third flight, stopping to let him catch his breath even though Steve protested that he was fine, but they finally reached the fourth floor. The hallway was dim, old but soft carpet covering the floor. Bucky led the way to the very end of the hall, to the last door on the right._

_Shooting Steve a grin over his shoulder, Bucky let the door swing open wide, and he pushed Steve in. Steve blinked in the sudden light that poured through the window on the opposite wall. Once his eyes cleared, he looked around._

_The apartment was small by most standards, but Steve and Bucky had been sharing a single room with ten other boys who had grown out of the orphanage they came from. The furnishings were sparse, mismatched, but they had never owned furniture before, so it didn’t matter. Steve turned slowly, taking it all in. He stopped when he was facing Bucky, who was standing in the doorway, impossibly fond smile on his face. He closed the door._

_“What do you think?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot, in that slowly-enough-to-be-casual-unless-you-knew-what-to-look-for way he had. He was nervous. “It took some doing to get it all together this quickly, but I wanted to be able to actually give ya something for once. So, er…” He rubbed the back of his head._

_Steve smiled._

_“I thought you had forgotten,” he said softly. Bucky gave him a genuine smile._

_“Never.” He slung his arm around Steve’s shoulder and steered him around the apartment for a tour. Steve found himself watching Bucky more than he looked at their new place. When Bucky stopped talking, Steve pulled him close and wrapped his arms around Bucky tightly._

_“Thank you,” he mumbled, muffled by Bucky’s shirt._

_It was the best Valentine’s Day ever._

There were tears making their way down Steve’s cheeks when he came back to himself. He slid to the floor of the very apartment of his memories, curling up tightly.

He cried himself to sleep there on the plush new carpet.

\---

“Captain Rogers, wait!”

Steve tried to ignore the voices calling to him. He couldn’t understand why they were trying to stop him. Why wouldn’t they let him through? Why were they keeping him from Bucky, he needed in there _now_ , they couldn’t-

“Steve.” Natasha’s steady voice, the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek, brought Steve out of his panic. He calmed, following Natasha through the crowd of SHIELD agents and into a small briefing room. She made him sit, firmly, at the table and pressed a warm cup of coffee in his hands.

“Is it true?” Steve asked before he had even taken a sip. “Did they really find-?”

“James Barnes is in this facility,” Natasha confirmed. She looked a little uneasy. “But Steve… he’s not the man you knew.”

Steve stared as she talked, telling him of the Russian experiments, a cold ruthless assassin, and the brainwashing that had to be broken somehow. The coffee grew cold in his hands as he listened.

“They… will be able to snap him out of it, right?”

The downturn of her mouth promised him nothing.

It was weeks of torture, being kept away from the man he thought he had lost during a war long gone. They said the Winter Soldier’s last target had been Captain America; that there was no telling what his presence could do to the shaky progress they had been making. It was weeks of pacing the Tower, hovering uncertainly in the others’ private spaces- Tony’s lab, Clint’s archery field, Bruce’s favorite library, Natasha’s personal quarters, anywhere Thor could be found- until they took pity on him and did their best to keep him distracted, inviting him into their sanctuaries when he had none of his own.

Finally, the okay for Steve to visit came. The SHIELD medical doctors thought that a quick visit wouldn’t be enough to undo all that they had managed; perhaps a visit might even do Bucky some good. Steve was wide awake, sitting in bed, the night before his visit when the idea hit him. A glanced at the calendar showed that his guess about the date was right. Maybe, just maybe… Steve padded over to his dresser and dug out his sketchpad and art supplies.

It couldn’t hurt, right?

That what he hoped, anyway, but he didn’t ask the SHIELD medics, just in case they tried to stop him. The card burned in his pocket the entire walk to Bucky’s (securely locked) room, but if it helped, it would be worth it.

Haunted eyes met Steve’s blue ones when he stepped in the room. There was suspicion mixed with a healthy dose of curiosity in that expression. There was no recognition.

Steve took the other chair, across the table from Bucky, and waited for him to speak first. Ten minutes in, and it was obvious that wasn’t going to happen.  However, though no words were spoken, Steve watched enraptured as a myriad of emotions flitted across Bucky’s gaunt face. All those feelings, all that emotion, made the little seed of hope Steve had been carrying around grow ever so slightly. A brainwashed killer couldn’t feel all that, could he?

When the soft knock on the door came, Steve stood up. Hesitantly, he pulled the card out of his pocket. It was a replica of the very first card that had passed between them, all those years ago at that little orphanage in Brooklyn, when a toothy grin and honest face made Steve smile and dust his knees off in that alley.

Steve placed the card on the table before walking out. He didn’t look back, but he would have seen two hands, one flesh, on metal, rest on either side of the card while a head hung low, hiding wide eyes.

“Stevie…?”

\---

Steve pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, balancing a loaded tray with ease as he stepped inside. He placed the tray on the bedside table and crawled beneath the comforter. Strong arms, one warm, one slightly cool, wrapped around him and pulled him close.

“Where’d ya go?” Bucky murmured, burying his face in Steve’s neck sleepily. Steve chuckled and dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

“Made some breakfast for us,” he said, coaxing Bucky to sit up and plucking the tray off the table. He showed Bucky the plate full of various, delicious-looking, breakfast items. Bucky opened his mouth obligingly when Steve held up a piece of bacon.

“Mm,” Bucky hummed, following Steve’s hand to lick his fingers clean, giving him a heated look. Steve flushed.

“There’s plenty of time after we eat,” he said sternly, but the blush and faint grin ruined it. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist with a pout.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But what did I do to deserve all this?”

Steve inhaled sharply, biting his lip and looking down. Bucky felt him tense and tried to catch his eye, concerned. He took the tray and placed it back on the table. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, pulling Steve close, and it was amazing that he could still make Steve feel enveloped and safe even after the serum pumped him up. “I was kidding, Steve. I love you.”

He kissed Steve’s cheek before groping around in the bedside drawer and producing a box. “Got this for you. I had to track down an old friend’s great granddaughter- and boy, did that make me feel old.”

Steve slipped the box open, carefully moving the tissue paper inside out of the way. He blinked rapidly when he saw the yellowed paper inside. Envelopes, letters, drawings… never dated, sometimes in code, but all familiar- almost every piece of correspondence they had sent to each other during the war. Letters, haphazard assurances of love hidden inside what, to others, would seem like a normal, friendly message. Drawings, tinted with affection, that Steve had done to help him remember Bucky’s face during the short period they had been separated. Promises, some that had been broken due to Bucky’s (temporary) death. All immortalized in a pile of papers. Steve looked up at Bucky, eyes soft.

“You found all of these?”

Bucky rubbed the back of his head. “I had help, of course… but those are all the letters and drawings that survived. It’s not much, but…”

Steve carefully sat the box aside before pouncing, tugging Bucky down to the mattress with him. “Forget breakfast,” he said breathily, resting his forehead against Bucky’s.

Bucky grinned, showing the barely-there gap in his teeth that no one but Steve would ever notice.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve.”


End file.
